


Peace and I Are Strangers Grown.

by kryptononon



Series: steel always seeking; eyes ever watching. [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Post-Campaign 2, beau is a badass expositor, how do you tag shit, im just going to do it, its beauyasha if you squint, or if you read the previous book idk, should i tag beauyasha?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryptononon/pseuds/kryptononon
Summary: Beauregard Lionett is no longer an ordinary woman.With a hood over her head, quarterstaff slung on her back, a hidden dagger tucked in her hand wraps, she is far detached from even the idea of an ordinary person. The forgotten heir to the Lionett name has become a shadow, a wraith, an Expositor, countless bodies falling in her wake, their deeds exposed together with their shed blood.Gods aren't the only ones who want to rule the world.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Dairon, Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Series: steel always seeking; eyes ever watching. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563100
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Peace and I Are Strangers Grown.

_**Two Weeks Ago, Kamordah, The Dwendalian Empire.** _

Letting the small dagger in her hand wraps slip to her fingertips, Beau weaves across the rioting mob, watching as the rich man in her sights quivered at the sheer amount of people pouring into his villa, all bearing torches and pitchforks. The Crownsguard were hopelessly outnumbered, their forces here in Kamordah already limited as is, the men in armour taking a step back as they brandished their weapons, one of them stabbing a citizen to make his point. The mob does a double-take, intimidated by the sudden violence, but as Beau reaches into her sash and throws a hefty dagger with deadly accuracy, the mob surged on, trampling on the body of the Crownsguard that was left grabbing at his neck.

Keeping her eyes trained on the man in fine ornate robes, Beau walks calmly through the crowd, steadily making progress towards him without anyone batting an eye at her. The man, however, struggling not to stumble over his own feet, books out of the villa, leaving the Crownsguard and his personal bodyguards to clean up his mess.

Swearing under her breath, Beau's gaze darts around, her footfalls masked by the chants of the crowd as she deftly climbs a birch tree, looking over the crowd for the first time as her eagle soared above and beyond her, towards the direction where her target ran. Jumping off a stiff branch, Beau barely manages to hold on to the ledge of the stone wall that surrounded the villa, thankful that the Crownsguard's would-be vigilant eyes were taken off her back for just a moment. Hefting herself onto the ledge, Beau keeps her stance low as she ran across the length of the wall, her blue-grey robes fluttering around her as she leapt onto the trees on the other side. With leaves rustling loudly under her steps, Beau swings and leaps ahead of her target, pulling her hood down further as she tried to keep herself hidden, waiting for the right moment to strike. Palming at the narrow dagger in her hand, Beau waits patiently with bated breath, as she watched the man in ornate robes trip over tree roots as he continued running towards the Cyrios Mountains, flanked by two bodyguards armed with a sword each. As the two bodyguards passed beneath her tree, Beau pounces, her blade running through the first bodyguard's neck, exposed between the hem of his cuirass and the lip of his helmet. Before she could dodge, however, the second bodyguard manages to pull off Beau's hood, exposing her identity as the Expositor angrily turns around, bringing him to the ground as she dispatches him with a well-placed strike, a sickening crack echoing through the mountain range as her target gasps, turning to run but instead tripping on a tree root, leaving him scrambling. As Beau approached the winery owner, fury blazing through her eyes as she glares at him, the man's robes soiled, and his back flush against a fallen log.

"Y-you're the Lionett girl. You're... you're supposed to be dead!" The man sputtered, only to hear Beau's scoff in response.

"Dead? Is that what they told you?"

The man profusely nods, but Beau laughs dryly as she knelt on one knee, reaching in her robes to take out a piece of parchment, yellowed and worn at its edges. Pointing at the document, the Expositor then puts a wrapped hand on the man's shoulder, holding him firmly in place.

"Honestly, I kinda learnt to live with it. But you on the other hand," Beau says, raising one eyebrow as she addresses the man in front of her, his hair tousled and messy. "Mister Reynard Osteler, you have been deferring payment to your winery workers since the month of Duscar. That's a solid 5 months, assface. Care to tell me why?"

"I don't have to tell you shit, Lionett." Reynard spits, some of his spittle landing on Beau's face, whose smile falters as she wipes it off her face.

A pause.

"You're right. I already know. You're rerouting your money to your little... what did you call it? Arms market? That's right." Beau said, a smirk creeping on her face as she stood, her long shadow cast by the moon's light shrouding Reynard's face and body as she paced around, twirling a throwing knife around her fingers. "You choose to invest in a war when people here are starving. And yet you uptight fucks living the high life here in Kamordah have the gall to call me the scum?"

"You stole from your own family, a traitor, through and through, you stupid dy-" Reynard was interrupted by a haymaker across his face as Beau punches him twice, then pulling him by the collar of his coat and pinning him against a tree, the broken branches prodding into his back. Kamordah's alarum bells began blaring at full volume, as the mob became larger and larger, angry citizens joining the effort one after another, their footsteps becoming audible as they marched across the rolling Bromkilm Hills.

"When you steal from the rich, it's criminal. But when you steal from the poor?" Beau drawls, her voice becoming threateningly gruff. "It's capitalism."

Beau's gaze rakes over Reynard's frame, then she swivels her head towards the commotion fast approaching them. Pulling the collar of his ornate vest, Beau stabs through the material with a dagger, leaving him dangling above the ground as she took a step back to pull her hood over her face again, shrouding it in shadow.

"Wha- what are you doing? Where are you going?" Reynard calls out to Beau, who was walking away, towards the main bell tower in the middle of the town.

"It's called poetic justice."

Beau throws a glance over her shoulder, smirking to herself as the mob finally breaks through the Crownsguard, now marching towards Reynard himself, who was desperately calling for Beau to have mercy on him, which she aptly ignores, instead scaling the exterior of the bell tower, admiring her work. There was a loud crack of bone, and a loud cheer erupts from the crowd as chants of the righteous murder of Reynard Osteler echo through Kamordah, other families from rivalling wineries taking a peek of the drama from their own villas.

Moving her sight from the Osteler's lands to her left, Beauregard sees a familiar set of faces, one of which was eyeing up at her, the lines of his face seemingly growing deeper as their gazes met. From beneath her hood, Beau pushes down her innate desire to throw a knife at his head and instead opts for a scowl across her features, mumbling to herself, as if he could hear her.

"Just wait."

The bell tolls, swinging to one side, as Thoreau's gaze was still trained on his estranged daughter's.

The bell swings, and tolls again, but Beauregard's silhouette had vanished into thin air as if she were just a figment of his imagination. Thoreau blinks and looks up again, this time gaining the attention of his wife, who follows his gaze, up to the bell tower to see not a woman, but an eagle taking flight.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Thoreau replied and resumes putting his hand on his son's shoulder, his one and only rightful child, and heir to the Lionett fortune.

* * *

_**Present Day, The Valley Archive of the Cobalt Soul in Zadash, The Dwendalian Empire.** _

Dairon paces around in her room in the Cobalt Soul waiting, admittedly, quite worriedly for their student. Word had travelled that a mob had taken over the Osteler estate in Kamordah, and at one glance, Dairon knew it was her. The sharp-tongued, and even sharper-witted Beauregard.

The wooden door swivels open, smacking against the adjacent wall as Beau swore under her breath, closing the door gently before regaining her cool and presenting them with a bloody bird's feather.

"It is done. Reynard Osteler is dead. He's a dick, deserved to die anyway." Beau commented as Dairon nodded, bringing the feather up to eye level for a closer inspection.

"Was it quick?" Dairon asks out of curiosity, earning a snort of laughter from her student.

"Nah. Could hear him screaming from the highest point of Kamordah. Bitch was a little pussy. You should've seen me, though. I was a badass, walking off as the mob claimed him and brutally beat the shit out of him. Man, that was art." Beau said, her hands rested on Dairon's table, which had a curious wooden box sitting atop of it.

"Yes, yes. That's very good."

Dairon nods, waving further elaboration on the subject off before speaking again. "Well, this was excellent, Beauregard. You have done Wildemount a great service, and for that, I have a little something for you."

Reaching over to the intricately carved wooden box, Dairon pulls out a well-made bracer, the metal plates on the top portion possessing elaborate dark blue and gold carvings. Flipping it around to show Beau, Dairon moves the gauntlet into the light, making the dark metal easier to see, an intricate system of gears and locks.

"What the hell is that, Dairon?" Beau says, her eyes widening as she moved to touch the bracer, but Dairon moves it out of her grasp, putting it back in the wooden box, carrying it under their arm as they exit the room, motioning for Beau to follow her.

The two Expositors made their way to an unused wing of the Valley Archive, Beau coughing at the amount of dust in the air, some of the particles dancing in the sparse sunlight that pours in through the tiny cracks in the old brickwork. Leading them down a few more winding hallways and staircases, Dairon escorts Beau towards a dead end, in the most remote section of the Archive.

"Uh, Dairon?" Beau questioned from behind them, as her hands fidgeted, messing with the strap that held her quarterstaff in place.

"Patience, Beauregard,"

After a few moments, Dairon mumbles her approval as she pulls on a red and white book, with an insignia unknown to Beau. The old walls split, making way for a dimly lit stairwell that led them underground. As they entered, the walls behind them closed, and the previously unlit torches come to life with a lively orange flame. The air here seems musky, but not as dusty as the corridor that they were in just now. Beau swore that she could hear the drip of water and the flaps of bird wings as they progressed further into the stairwell.

Soon, the stairwell opens up, exposing a room, well hidden away from the rest of the Archive. Hooded figures stood behind a beautifully ornate marble table, with a weird circular contraption affixed to the top of it. _Nihil Verum; Omnia Licita_ was carved into the edges of the table, as a figure in grey and blue robes circled around the table, pulling the hood away from their face as they revealed themselves to be the High Curator Udilla Fonn of the Rexxentrum Archive, who looks Beauregard up and down, then nodding at Dairon, who bows her head in respect.

"I believe we have met once before, Expositor. In King Dwendal's meeting chamber. You were travelling with the group known as the Mighty Nein at that time, yes?"

"Y-Yeah." Beau stuttered as the High Curator nods again.

"Then I must have you know that he spoke the truth that night. That trust has to be earned." Udilla circles the tables again, taking her place beside the two other hooded figures as they kept quiet, their faces unrecognisable under their hoods. "Through Expositor Dairon's careful observations of you and your efficient... methods of dispatching filth, we the Council have deemed you worthy of a place in the Brotherhood."

"Wait, what?" Beau said, her hands flying up to her chest, palms facing forward. "I thought the Expositors were the boogeymen. Are you telling me that this has layers?"

The High Curator cocks an eyebrow, as a rare smile graces her lips, Dairon forcefully clearing her throat.

"Yes, young Beauregard. The Expositors expose lies. The Brotherhood disposes of the liars that made them."

"And that dick- I mean, Reynard, was one of them?"

"Indeed, Beauregard. Liars come in all shapes and forms, but all of them oppose truth, and by extension, oppose Ioun. We work to ensure the truth stays untainted, and to hopefully bring peace to our troubled lands, one assassination at a time." Udilla explains methodically, as Beau shifted her weight from one foot to the next.

"Well, I mean, yeah, I accept." Beau retorts immediately, but Udilla raises a hand, halting her.

"You must know that we are not the Mighty Nein. We have a strict code. A Creed, if you will." Udilla started, as Dairon fiddled with the box, as even they were intimidated by Udilla's air of confidence. "One, stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. Only dispatch of those that we request for you to. Otherwise, you will be punished for acting out of your own will. Two, hide in plain sight. This might be difficult for you especially, Beauregard but let the people mask you such that you become one with the crowd. Three, never compromise the Brotherhood. Its meaning should be obvious. Your actions should never bring harm upon us, direct or indirect."

"I, wow. That is a lot to digest." Beau stutters, looking over at Dairon, who encourages her with a stalwart nod.

"It is, yes, but your mentor would be happy to guide you, of this I am certain," Udilla says, looking towards Dairon, who nods in agreement. "Well then, you have proved yourself worthy, Beauregard. There is only one question left for you to answer. Do you, Beauregard Lionett, accept the Creed, and the invitation to join us in the Brotherhood?"

"Well, did I really have a choice? I mean, I'm glad to accept." Udilla smiles at Beau once more, earning smiles and nods from the other two hooded individuals, as they gesture to the contraption in front of Beau, the box that Dairon was holding now placed in front of it. Guiding Beau's left hand onto the circular looking contraption, her ring finger resting snugly in between two raised inserts that somehow made Beau uneasy.

"Are you ready, Beau?" Dairon said, her voice a calm respite. Beau nods slowly, and beside her, Dairon holds a two-pronged blade in her left hand, inserting it right above the two gaps, the sharp blade of the centre groove resting painlessly on her ring finger.

"It will be over soon." They reassure Beau, their right hand on Beau's shoulder, and the other palms the handle of the two-pronged blade, Beau noticing the amputated ring finger.

"Think of who you're fighting for. Who in your life has been strung along in a lie? Whose life has been hurt because of a lie?" Udilla asks as Beau's eyes close, her mind immediately went to her aasimar... friend? Flashing back to the events of the King's Cage, the ruse of the Chained Oblivion, and Obann's manipulations of her, Beau thought of Yasha, and her pain, and the hefty price she was willing to pay, just to ensure her safety, that her past would never repeat itself again.

Beau's eyes shot open again, and she nods at Dairon, who nods back, swiftly pushing the blade down as Beau's shouts of pain echoed within the chamber, a glowing hand immediately reaching out towards her from the other hooded figure, stopping the bleeding immediately as Beau caught her breath, her senses finally return back to her as she rests against the table, the bracer now removed from its housing, and is gently secured in place by Dairon, who gives Beau a rare smile of her own.

"Try it. Flick your wrist." Dairon instructed, as Beau followed suit, testing out the weight of the blade, which was surprisingly quite light, before flicking her wrist towards the air.

With a soft _snickt_ of the release mechanism, the two-tiered blade reveals itself in a flourish, the metal of the blade etched with a beautiful design that was unclear in the dark but was beautiful nonetheless.

"Welcome to the Brotherhood, Beauregard Lionett. We are proud of you, and the work that you have done."

In that moment, Beau felt a swell of emotion in her chest, a grin creeping across her face.

It wasn't that Dairon was proud of her. Well, maybe, but not fully.

_Holy shit. I'm proud of myself._

**Author's Note:**

> oh damn, this was based off another fever dream of mine, where the expositors had an assassin unit,,,,, bidet to you all, and kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> come holler at me on tumblr! @ham-ham-ham-shark!


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